


my touch is made for you

by spaceodditybarnes



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceodditybarnes/pseuds/spaceodditybarnes
Summary: Bucky doesn’t remember what a gentle touch feels like. Not until the reader enters his life.
Kudos: 1





	my touch is made for you

_Touch_

Something so foreign to Bucky. A human necessity and yet Bucky was denied it. If he sat and thought for long enough, he could faintly remember life before the painful messy war. Sunday mornings where his Ma would comb hair gel through his hair with her dainty fingers. Evenings when his father would come home from the docks and ruffle his hair with calloused fingers, scarred from years of hard work. Bedtime kisses and playful punches from Rebecca. The memories were faint, but they were there.  


He didn’t even have to be quiet to remember the pain. The burning white of the electricity, the numbing cold of ice. The ache of losing his arm and the phantom pain that came after. The throb of being punched, slapped, kicked. The anguish of being forced to kill the innocent. It wasn’t a life that he wanted, it wasn’t a life he asked for. 

Hydra made him forget the gentle lifetime beforehand. Hydra had hurt him in ways he could never have possibly imagined. Hydra had stolen his history but worst of all: Hydra had made him afraid. It was only natural at the first opportunity he ran. He walked out of the Potomac, dragging a soggy man alongside him, and escaped to Bucharest. He lived a peaceful life there until the mess of war caught up and entangled him in its evil clutches again.

The masked men restraining him had reminded him of Hydra and he could hear the blood pulsing in his ears. Locked in a glass containment unit and left alone, bar 4 armed guards within the room and another two stationed outside. With his eyes closed and his head down, he failed to register an unfamiliar man with a foreign accent sending the guards away; muttering some excuse about how he had to talk to him alone.

Out of everything, the words were the worst part. They made him remember the pain and he just wanted it to stop. Bucky refused to hurt anyone, refused to cause any more damage, and so he made it his mission to escape. He wanted out of there and would do whatever necessary to escape. There would be no escape without a fight, and a fight there would be.

The airport, the Hydra facility in Siberia, the shock of his metal arm being blasted off. The heartwrenching fear that came after being involved in a fight. That all went away when Bucky went to Wakanda, accompanied by Steve, where he met you. T’Challa and Shuri had been gracious and allowed him some time before they began his treatment – Bucky spent this time getting to know you. 

You told him about the memories of your childhood: how your father walked out once he discovered your mama was pregnant; claiming that he didn’t want to be the father of a colored baby, how your mama would sing to you as she detangled and braided your hair, how your mama went off to fight M’Baku and never returned, how Okoye and W’Kabi took you in, how you once broke T’Challa’s nose. He learned about your fears, learned about the things you loved. He wiped your tears when you discovered he couldn’t remember what made him happy.

Bucky spent evenings tracing the smattering of freckles across your cheeks and nose, admiring the way the sun lit you up. The first time Bucky had said the three magic words, your heart grew five times in size. A man who described himself as hard to love, broken, a murderer had made you feel safer than the Dora-Milaje tribe had ever done before. Bucky had made you feel more loved than you ever had before and you were so lucky to have him. You were hopelessly in love with him and you never wanted this to end.

But loving him hurt. Loving him was torture, loving him was hope. Loving him was nothing like anything you’d experienced before. Love was an adventure, and to be loved by Bucky was the greatest adventure of them all. Whilst days were spent exploring Wakanda and meeting with Shuri to discuss Bucky’s treatment, nights were spent between white cotton sheets.

There was no denying that Bucky Barnes was a talented lover. When it came down to the subject of sex, Bucky Barnes was a smooth talker and my God, if there was one thing he could do is eat you out until you were falling apart. His smooth, wet tongue teasing your clit until you were practically begging for him. Only then would he take you apart. Bucky would make you beg for it though, begging for him in complete desperation.

Bucky started with gentle, teasing thrusts; his hand teasing your clit until you moaned his name, seeking more. The humid air would be full of broken moans, whimpers, cries of delight. And when you came, you could swear that Bucky was magic, making you see billions of stars. Chanting names like a broken hallelujah. On nights where neither of you could sleep, Bucky would pull orgasm after orgasm from you until you were both on the verge of sleep.

The last night you spent with Bucky Barnes before his treatment started was full of tears. Desperate proclamations of love as he pulled you apart over and over again. Neither of you wanted to sleep; instead, you just curled up in his arms and told him stories from your childhood. Daylight soon broke through and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling as you both got ready for the day.

You let Steve say goodbye to him first, but Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off you as you stood in the corner. Steve was gracious, allowing the two of you privacy; promising Bucky that he would look after you before he left the room. The goodbye kiss was bittersweet, and part of you wished that Bucky would change his mind. But you knew this was for the best, and you’d wait forever for your blue-eyed lover.

Bucky looked peaceful, you decided, and it must have been the best sleep of his life. Despite him being frozen, you wouldn’t leave his side. You’d spend your days in the chamber room, reading to him, telling him more stories and all the plans you had for the two of you once he woke up. You loved Bucky, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him – no matter what the cost was.

365 days of waiting. 365 days of kissing the glass of the chamber before bed, 365 days of crying, 365 days of fearing Bucky wouldn’t remember you. One year and then Bucky came back to you. He surprised you early that morning and the day was filled with tears, proclamations of love and being pulled apart in the best way possible.

Bucky took a bath for the first time in a year that night, and you didn’t leave his side the entire time. Despite Shuri’s work, Bucky Barnes was not a brand new man. Whilst his trigger words had been erased, some memories remained. The thought of someone touching his head scared him, all he could think about was the plates that would send shocks of electricity through him and the rough hands of Hydra.

He trusted you, however, and decided it was time to try something new. You coached him through it the entire time, planting soft kisses down his neck to soothe him. Bucky cried when you started massaging in shampoo, in disbelief that someone’s touch could be so gentle and loving after so long. You were gentle and loving, and he craved more. Bucky even let you blow-dry his hair, brushing gentle fingers through soft tresses.

If nightmares plagued Bucky, he’d lay in your lap and beg for you to play with his hair. Forehead kisses, neck kisses, gentle hands scritching at his scalp. It would ground him too if he was consumed with panic.

His favorite days, Bucky decided were days where it was raining outside. Days spent between white sheets, your hands soothing Bucky to sleep as his favorite record played from a thrifted record player. But his favorite day just so happened to be the day you answered the question that had terrified him.

“Will you marry me?”

A brief silence before, “yes.”


End file.
